Inhale Deep
by HannahCake310
Summary: Jim Kirk was a narcissistic, egotistical asshole that didn't need saving... Until, of course, he did.


**Title taken from Macklemore's _Inhale Deep_. Waring for possible Triggers and disturbing themes.**

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It wasn't a gay bar, that was for damn sure. Jim wasn't trying to pick anyone up. It wasn't a Saturday night and Jim was not wearing his tightest jeans that left nothing to the imagination. Instead, it was a normal bar, the _MedBay,_ aptly named by the themed surgical serving glasses and blue neon stethoscope proudly displayed over the entrance. Jim was sat in the corner at the far end of the mildly sticky yet still somewhat warm atmosphere of the place.

He wore his signature leather jacket but under he had a white shirt still grease stained from working under the hood of a car at the auto shop he partially-owned-always-worked at. His jeans may have been a little tight but Jim just thought they hugged all the right places and were comfortable to boot. He didn't really want to chat anyone up, let alone take anyone home to his small apartment that hadn't been cleaned in God knows how long just to have lack-luster sex he'd regret in the morning as the other person – man, woman, it didn't matter these days – hurriedly threw on their clothes to escape the confines of his rinky-dink little apartment. For once, Jim actually wished they'd stay a while. Have breakfast. Tell him their name again. Just because he couldn't remember their name didn't mean he didn't care! But that never happened. It was a hump-and-dump and Jim was getting a little tired of it.

Sure, when he was in high school and early college the whole _wham, bam, oh hot damn_ had been a good time. He was a good lay, that's what they told him. Sometimes he'd be the first one out of bed before the fluids even cooled, out the door with shoes in hand and another notch in the bed post. But going around thinking with his dick only got him so far. Jim could only run and hide and drink and fuck for so long before it all caught up with him and he had to learn that being a shithead wasn't going to get him anywhere in life.

He'd lived the college life too hard. Drinking and smoking and throwing up a big _fuck you_ to everything else. But that was what Jim Kirk did, he was a fuck up. Getting kicked out of college was the starting point that lead him to getting clean. He'd wised up. Got a job as a mechanic and stuck with it even when he'd had the urge to run when things started to get hard. He stayed away from the drugs that made it all easier with just a little prick or a tiny sniff. It was hard. Fuck did he struggle. He'd lay awake night after night staring out his window wishing for it all to end or wishing for just one more bump. A small one. Just a bump, not a hit. It wouldn't hurt. It would make everything better. But it never did and Jim didn't let himself fall off the wagon he'd been on so long now that he was practically driving it. He got smarter, stronger. Drugs wouldn't run his life.

Alcohol was a different story,

Jim was known to get shitfaced a time or two or three in the sanctuary of his own home where no one could see him fall apart. He never got drunk while he was out. He didn't like himself when he was drunk. His fight or fuck instinct came out and that wasn't the person he wanted to be right now. That didn't stop him from venturing to bars, however. After a long day of fixing motors, getting sprayed with oil, flinging wrenches across the garage with sweaty hands and losing a nut inside an engine of a client that had a stick shoved so far up her ass Jim was sure she was coughing up wood, he was exhausted. He still felt dirty even after rinsing off in the shower at the garage. Hey, it was his damn shop, if he wanted to install a shower head so he didn't bring his work smells home with him it was his prerogative. His workers enjoyed it as well, added bonus.

Two beers – that was Jim's limit. Three of he was in a bad mood. One shot off the bottom shelf on a weekday if he was by himself. Four if he wanted to get someone to take him home, which hadn't happened in way longer than even Jim was willing to admit. It was fine though. He might have a serious case of blue balls but it was the trials and tribulations of being an adult. Of not being a fuck up.

"You want anozer?" The barman asked. He was more like a bar _kid_ – guy couldn't have been older than eighteen, twenty at best. He was shorter with curly brown hair that framed his face and spoke with an accent Jim assumed was Russian. Jim looked down at his empty glass. It was his first, but he'd already had two fingers of whisky. He didn't want to get drunk, just unwind a bit from a long day. _Enterprise Repair Shop_ wasn't easy to own, operate and thrive in by himself.

"Yeah," he said simply pointing to his glass. The boy nodded without a word and was off down the bar getting him a fresh beer. There were other men behind the bar, three others who all seemed engrossed in their individual tasks. Cleaning glasses, poring drinks, one had his head bent over a stack of papers. They were all guys which was strange to see at a straight bar. Usually there was a woman with a low top who worked at bars like this, not all dudes. Jim didn't complain however, they were all good looking and while probably all four were straight as an arrow they were still fun to look at.

 _Look at, don't touch. Fine, fine, fine._

He'd never been inside this particular bar before but he liked it. It had a nice aura about itself. Not too crowded, music not too loud, big enough to warrant four bartenders behind the bar with servers at the tables behind Jim. The bar was a nice dark wood and while the lights were dimmed one could still see. Nice. Quaint. Just what Jim needed on a Thursday afternoon after a shit show day.

Jim looked down the bar when the kid slid his beer to him. Right as his eyes swept over the workers again the man with his head down at his papers looked up and they made eye contact. Jim tore his gaze away fast feeling warmth color his cheeks. Damn, that was a good looking man. Then he berated himself because no, he was sure as hell not some bashful swooning school girl. He was Jim _fucking_ Kirk. Owner of _Enterprise_ and used-to-be Drug addict but now a cool and composed auto repair shop guy... _Uh_ , Jim sighed to himself taking a gulp of his beer. His life kinda sucked.

Someone sat down beside Jim and he immediately felt annoyed. There were over five other perfectly good seats available but this guy had chosen the one right next to him. He didn't even look up, just took a deep breath and got ready to collect his things to move. He wanted to be alone. There was a whole fucking bar the guy could've sat at. It might've been rude but fuck manners. He'd left his manners back in Iowa ten years ago.

"Now what's a good looking guy like you doing in a place like this?" Annoying Guy smiled too close to Jim's ear.

 _No, no, no, not that line. Come on man, that's the most cliche line in the book._ Jim would know, he'd used it. Had it saved up in his queue. Been there. Done that. Got the broken nose thanks very much.

Jim bit his tongue at the strong and curse-filled retort he'd had on the tip of his tongue but instead answered back. "Having a beer, what's it look like?"

The man beside him laughed loudly drawing the attention of a few people at the other end of the bar including Mr. Paper Work who scowled as he stared then seemingly turned back to his work. Though the way his eyes stared at the paper it didn't look like he was doing a lot of reading.

Jim said nothing to the seat warmer next to him, the universal sign for _fuck off._

"Can I get your name?" Annoying Seat Warmer asked sweetly and Jim ran his tongue over his lips. The guy was too close. It was all of the sudden too hot in the bar. "Come on, it's not that hard, it is?" Finally Jim relented for nothing else then to get the guy to leave him alone.

"Bill," Jim said staring down at his drink.

"No way, that's my name," the guy said in mock astonishment holding up his hands in surprise. He was sure laying it on thick. "You got a last name?"

Jim held back his eye roll, but it was a close thing. "William."

"Bill William?" Guy Who Won't Get Out Of Jim's Personal Space questioned slowly before turning his head and laughing. "Basically you're names Bill Bill? Interesting. I thought you were more of a Nicholas or Brian or a Christoph-"

"Look man," Jim finally pulled his eyes away from his beer to look at the man next to him. He was a good looking guy for sure, but nothing about him was all too remarkable. His eyes were the arbitrary blue that multiples of people had and his hair was a light brown, mixed with dirty blonde that looked like it had been neat at some point then messed up right after. He had a dusting of facial hair and wore a shirt that was a size too small. Jim had seen guys like this before, hell he'd _been_ a guy like this before and he wasn't looking to get involved with someone like him. Been there again. Done that twice. Got the scars and not looking for another ride, thanks. "I'm not interested."

"Please," the guy _piffed_. "Everybody's interested. A cute guy like you? You're almost overflowing with interest."

Jim clenched his teeth. "Look buddy, can I just have a drink in peace. Please?"

Annoying Guy sighed running a hand through his hair obviously not used to being told no. Jim really wanted to just give him the good ol' fuck off but he really didn't want a fight in this nice bar so early in the evening.

"At least let me buy you a drink," Annoying Guy placated trying so hard it was almost admirable. Almost.

"I have a drink." Jim straightened his back garnering the attention from Paper Work Bartender down the way. The guy looked up again and Jim noticed he was older with scruff on his face and brown hair that caressed his forehead. Jim looked away from Annoying Guy trying to beg with his eyes for the barman or anyone to come help him. He felt trapped against the bar with this guy way too into his personal space.

As Jim looked towards the entrance of the bar, he missed it as a small red pill fell into his drink, sinking to the bottom and dissolving until it was tasteless and colorless. The pill was disintegrated and gone the second Jim gave up trying to find someone he knew to come help him out and he turned back to his drink. Annoying Guy flashed his too bright smile that would have blinded a lesser man. He came impossibly closer brushing against Jim's arm making him more uncomfortable than he'd been in a long time. Jim held up his drink to take a large swig thinking about how alcohol was one of the greatest of all social lubricants. He needed just a little liquid courage.

There was a ruckus that caught Jim's attention from down the bar. He tore his gaze away from the guy next to him to see the tanned, brown haired, paper working bartender stomping towards him. Jim tensed ready for a fight. He wasn't doing anything, he hadn't even _done_ anything! The bartender slammed his papers on the counter with a face set in a scowl so dark Jim shivered.

"Get the fuck out."

It took a second of blatant staring to realize the barman wasn't talking to him but the guy next to him.

"Look man, I don't know–" was all the guy got out before Gruff Barman was half over the bar grabbing at the guys silk shift and pulling him until they were nose to nose. Jim was paralyzed with his drink half way to his lips still. "I saw the shit you just pulled and if I ever see you again I swear I'll kill you and make it look like an _accident_." The barman turned to Jim smacking the drink from his hands. The beer glass hit the bar, spilling everything before it fell to the floor and shattering. "He drugged it."

A stone fell into Jim's stomach so hard he twitched. Shit. But Bartender wasn't done yet. "If I see your ass in here _ever_ I swear to God I'll beat you so hard you'll be throwin' up your pick, get what I'm saying?" His eyes looked murderous and alive. Fire burned deep and his lips thinned in anger. "Now get!" Then he threw the man away from him. Annoying Guy slammed into an empty table then fell to the ground roughly. A bouncer came over with shiny black hair and a serious expression. The man didn't look too strong but he definitely had a _don't fuck with me_ aura about him.

"Get this trash outta my sight, Spock," Barman hissed just as the bouncer hauled up Jim's would-be drugger and hustled him out of the bar. Jim just sat there when it was all over feeling distinctly stupid and positively numb. He was sticky from where the liquid of his beer had splashed on him.

He hadn't even seen the guy put anything in his drink. He would've just taken that gulp and went on with his night and that guy... That guy could've done anything to him.

Shit.

Jim felt sick. He felt dirty though nothing had happened to him. He felt like he needed a shower to scrub his skin with soap and water and his nails to get the stain of this night to go away. He felt like he needed to pick himself apart to get to his underneath just to pluck out the poisoned parts that had integrated into his very being.

"Hey, kid," Barman said turning to him obviously calmed down and looking at him like Jim was a hurt child. "Can I get you something? Some water? You can watch me get it if it helps."

"I..." Jim felt his hands start to shake. His nose itched for a bump, his lips watered for a cigarette. His heart still beat wildly in his chest, he could practically feet it vibrating his shirt. "I need to go."

He turned and was gone snaking his way through the bar feeling himself start to hyperventilate a few feet before he reached the door. He needed to get out, his instincts to run came rushing at him like bulls charging. The tall bouncer – Spock – eyed him strangely as he busted out of the bar. Cool air hitting his face barely registered as his chest heaved desperate to grab any air he could get yet knowing it wouldn't be enough.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hadn't freaked out like this in a long time. His hands were full out trembling as he turned down the street with no destination in mind but wanting to get far, far away from that bar and that man and that drink. He was almost a block from the bar when he felt his knees buckle slightly on him and he stumbled. Tripping, he ran into an alleyway just in time for the bile that had been resting in his stomach to be heaved up. Jim leaned against a dirty dumpster as he retched and gagged even after there was nothing left in his stomach but acid. Then he stayed there leaning on the dumpster feeling its rough edges against his hot forehead. He wiped at his mouth once and leaned back on the brick wall of a brownstone. His face was wet with tears he hadn't known he'd shed as his legs finally gave out and he slid down the wall.

 _Get yourself together Kirk!_

He screamed at himself grabbing a hold of his own hair and tugging at it hard. Even when he tried to get his life together – get _himself_ together – and not be a fuck up anymore assholes like that guy had to come along and tear down all of his control. All of his careful planning and rules he had set for himself. Now he just really wanted something to smoke. He needed to feel the rush of nicotine flow through him. He wanted the burn of coke stinging the linings of his nose. He wanted the high and the elation that came with not being all together.

 _Jesus_.

Jim didn't trust himself to move. He knew if he did he would do something stupid so he just stayed where he was steaming to himself.

There was this common misconception that Jim Kirk needs to be saved. No, he reasoned with himself, he doesn't need to be fucking saved. He doesn't need anyone to help him. He doesn't need anyone looking out for him because he could do it all himself. He could get shit faced and get smashed in a bar fight then pick himself off the ground, brush the glass off his shoulder and get his busted ass home just fine. He could retreat into a corner and lick his wounds by himself without onlookers or rubberneckers. He could bandage his own broken fingers and torn flesh, he didn't need anyone to do it for him…

Except when he can't do it himself and he does need someone to help him. Like now. A part of Jim wished he hadn't run from that bar, the guy who helped him didn't seem too bad. He'd been cute under all the scruff and southern drawl. Jim let a quick breath out of his nose bringing his head down to rest on his knees and drawing himself into a tighter ball.

Scuffs and the sound of shoes hitting concrete made him jump a few minutes later. Jim didn't move trying to will the shadows to surround him, hide him from the person grumbling by.

"... Damn kids runnin' off... Damn asshole tryin' to ruin my establishment... Damn good for nothin' – hey!" The guy walking past the alley yelled suddenly making Jim flinch. He stayed still, eyes tightly closed hoping the guy wasn't speaking to him. "You're the kid from the bar."

Shit. He was speaking to him.

Jim folded in on himself tighter. It didn't sound like Asshole Guy but he couldn't be sure and he'd be damned before he moved again. He also was starting not to feel so good once more. There wasn't anything left in his stomach but still it churned uncomfortably.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, kid." The man's voice was closer. Warmer. "I'm just here to help."

 _Stop pussyfooting Jim, be a damn Kirk and grow a pair!_ Damn, his internal voice certainly was mean tonight.

Tentatively, Jim looked up towards the stranger's voice. He sucked in a breath when he realized who it was. Holy shit. It was the guy. The bartender who'd noticed the guy putting the drug in his drink.

"Bartender Guy?" Jim said then mentally kicked himself for sounding so stupid. The man laughed.

"Most people call me Leonard but I guess Bartender Guy works as well." He smiled at Jim but Jim didn't move to smile back. They stared at each other uncomfortably for a moment before Leonard grabbed at his pocket. "Oh, uh, you left your wallet. Must've fell outta your pocket. I was actually going to return it to you, I looked at your license and saw you lived close."

He held out his hand and sure enough Jim's wallet stared at him from between his fingers. Great. _Good going, Jim._ He reached out and snatched it before continuing his huddle with himself. His very manly huddle that was very masculine and not because he was scared.

"Listen, kid," Leonard began running a hand through his hair probably smelling Jim's throw up beside the dumpster. "Are you alright? Well, I know you're not but, shit, do you need help getting home?"

Jim partly thought that Leonard's struggle with words was a little adorable. He also wholly thought that he'd never admit to anyone that he'd just mentally called another guy adorable. "I think I'm fine here."

Leonard nodded looking unconvinced. "Yeah, you look fine covered in throw up and pale as my mamma's old satin sheets. Look," he stepped forward offering his hand. "Let me help you get home so I can take a look a'cha. I used to be a doctor once upon a time ago." Jim stared at the hand for a few seconds too long. "I ain't gonna hurt ya kid."

 _Fine_. Jim sighed. He needed to pull his big boy pants up and stop being so scared. "Jim. My name's Jim." And he grabbed for the hand that helped to hoist him up.

"Alright Jimbo," Leonard cracked a grin clearly trying to lighten the mood still not letting go of Jim's hand. Jim was grateful for it as he righted himself then swayed as stars appeared in his vision. Leonard came close enough for Jim to smell his musky aftershave as he made sure Jim didn't fall. "Let's get you home."

"So doctor, huh?" Jim asked as they came out of the lip of the alley and headed towards his home. Leonard rolled his eyes shaking his head.

"Used to. Then the wife took everything in the divorce. All I had left was my bar and my bones."

Jim gave a small smile at the man and shook his head feeling like he'd just found someone that would become very important to him.


End file.
